Night Angel

by Renee Reeves

  She turned away, preparing to move on and find a payphone while Goliath sexed it up with the assistant, only to stop when she heard him speak.

  "I'm Nick Evanoff. Here's my license. Would you please make a copy of it so that everyone here knows I am the one who took Mrs. Fletcher home. I think it would make her much more comfortable about accepting my company."

  The nurse winked conspiratorially at him and smiled at Morgan. Once the copying of the driver's license was accomplished he turned back to her, showed her the evidence and then handed it back to the nurse.

  "Now will you trust me to take you home?"

  The night air was cool when they stepped outside the hospital and walked across the parking lot to his truck making Nick wish he had something to wrap around her shoulders, and then he remembered she was Mrs. Morgan Fletcher. Shit.

  "How long have you been here?” She asked quietly.

  "About two hours."

  She looked at him, suspicion tensing her small face. He ignored her unspoken question and pulled his keys out of his pocket, pressing a button. The truck lights flashed and there was an audible click as the locks let go.

  She shivered and wrapped her arms around her stomach, stopping a few feet away from the truck. “Why are you doing this? You don't even know me."

  He sighed; not really knowing the true reason other than to be near her was an impulse he could not ignore. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay. And then, when no one showed up at the hospital for you I figured you might need someone to take you home.” An odd expression crossed her face, but then quickly passed, so quickly that he wondered if he had imagined it. “Which brings me to my next obvious question—where's your husband?"

  She dipped her head, nibbling on her lower lip and plucking at the buttons on her blouse, studiously avoiding his eyes. “He's ... away.” The words were mumbled and directed at the pavement beneath their feet.

  Nick felt a spurt of irritation but pushed it firmly away. She was obviously lying, and doing it badly, but for right now he had no right to pry into her life. Choosing to let the moment pass he opened the passenger door. “I'll turn on the heat for you; it's not unusual for the nights to get chilly."

  She nodded but moved no closer to the truck, just stood there watching him with big, wary eyes. A slight breeze lifted a few strands of her rich dark hair and Nick couldn't resist catching several of the wispy tendrils. Gently he let them slide through his fingers like the softest silk. Unconsciously he moved closer to Morgan until barely an inch separated them, then slid his hand through her hair to cup the back of her head. A small sob broke the silence and Nick stopped, realizing that she stood frozen against him in a type of desperate stillness and that his hand was wrapped in her hair, forcing her to arch her head back. Unshed tears made her hazel eyes glisten like burnished gold and Nick felt sick at himself for scaring her.

  "Oh Christ, sweetheart, I'm sorry. Don't look at me like that.” Carefully he untangled his hand and stepped back, giving her the space he knew she would need. “I didn't mean to do that, or to scare you."

  Blinking rapidly she wrapped her arms tightly around her stomach and occasional small shudders shook her frame. He could understand her being wary of him, but her reactions to an almost kiss seemed extreme, and the fear in her eyes had been very real. She had been—no, was still—terrified of him and what he might do to her.

  "Morgan ... I wont hurt you. Understand?"

  She nodded but her lips were still trembling and she remained tense, belying the fact that she believed him. A cold fist clenched his stomach and a muscle in his jaw began to throb. Somewhere in her past someone had hurt her, and badly. Anger surged through him, and it wasn't because she was nervous or scared of him, but because this and her earlier freak-out when he had tried to pull her from the car, stemmed from something. Someone had hurt her, and the thought that some son-of-a-bitch had layed his hands on her in anger really fucked with his control. A shadowy, faceless image of her absent husband formed in his brain. Goddamn him...

  Nick drew in a deep, calming breath. Now was not the time to go all protective male with her. “Look Morgan. I'm a stranger and I know that you're nervous, but everyone in the nurse's station knows you left with me. There were at least seven or eight witnesses. I made damn sure of that so you would feel more secure.” He waved his hand at the open passenger door and stepped back, giving her space to get in without having to get too close to him. “I'm sorry about what almost happened a few minutes ago and it won't happen again. Nothing will happen. All I want to do to you is give you a ride home."

  Before Morgan could open her mouth and force out some kind of reply Nick had turned on his heel and was heading around the back of the truck to the driver's side, leaving the passenger door open for her. Morgan stared at the open door for a minute, letting all of the reasons why she should not get into that truck with him roll through her mind. But then some long-buried instinct crept in, gently pushing aside the doubts ... if he were planning to hurt you he wouldn't have left his I.D. with everyone at the Nurse's station, much less waited over two hours for you to be released.

  Morgan looked at him sitting comfortably behind the steering wheel. He was watching her with no hint of impatience on his face, one arm draped casually along the window-frame, the other resting in his lap, apparently willing to wait all night for her decision. Morgan got into the truck and set her purse down between her feet.

  "Buckle up."

  Even though the cab was large, it was also dark, with only the green glow of the dashboard illuminating his face. A wide console provided a barricade between them but Morgan still felt crowded and vulnerable—he was just so big. She fiddled with the seatbelt strap at her waist and then laced her fingers together. Fiddle, then lace ... fiddle, then lace ... finally she just grabbed her purse from the floor and sat it in her lap. At least her hands would be occupied by holding it and pressing it against her stomach helped ease the nervous cramping that had begun when he had almost kissed her. She just prayed that nothing would trigger a panic attack.

  Silence stretched between them and Morgan sat trying to think of something to say. But she had never been any good at small talk and her mind was a blank, wiped clean of everything but the sharp edge of anxiety. She felt him looking at her and glanced over. He raised an eyebrow. The neon lights of the dash threw shadows onto his face, making him look harder, more menacing. Breathe, slow and easy. All he's doing is looking at me, nothing threatening about that.

  He cleared his throat, tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, making her realize he had asked her a question.

  "I'm sorry ... what?"

  He had beautiful hands, long fingered and strong looking.

  "I said where to? I need to know where you live."

  She forced herself to concentrate. “Oh, of course.” After she told him he backed smoothly out of the parking lot, handling the huge truck as if it were an extension of himself. For some reason she got the feeling that it was like that with everything he did.

  They drove in silence for awhile, each lost in their thoughts. Morgan watched the tree-line fly by, occasionally catching glimpses of glowing eyes in the woods lit by the headlights. “Are there a lot of deer out here?"

  "Deer, possums, raccoons, bear ... you need to be really careful driving at night Morgan—do you mind if I call you Morgan? I know I already have been but it's polite to ask, and after today Mrs. Fletcher just seems a little ... silly."

  "Sure,” she shrugged, “I hate being called Mrs. Fletcher anyway. Not only does it make me feel old but it—” That's right Morgan, you nitwit, tell him all the reasons you hate that name why don't you?

  "But it what?"

  "Nothing. Um, yes ... calling me Morgan is fine."

  Luckily more conversation was interrupted by him flicking the signal and turning onto her gravel road. Soon after her little cottage came into view. Morgan drew in a great breath of relief as he pulled into the driveway and stopped.

&n
bsp; "You should have left some lights on,” he said, his tone vaguely disapproving, “It's not safe for a woman to come home to a dark house."

  Morgan looked at him, wondering whether she should be flattered or upset by his somewhat chauvinistic statement. She decided ignoring it was best and opened the passenger door. “Thank you again for everything.” Clutching her purse she slid her legs over the seat and hopped out of the truck, ignoring the sharp jab of pain that shot through her leg when she landed. “Are you sure you don't want any gas money?"

  He shook his head, watching her carefully out of heavy-lidded eyes, “I don't live far from here. Get your keys out; I'll wait until you've gone inside. Signal me that everything's okay by flicking the porch light and don't forget to lock up as soon as you're in."

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter 6

  Strong hands, rough with calluses, smoothed across her stomach, tickling her naval. Morgan moaned, writhing on the bed, twisting and arching her hips in protest when he used his superior weight to subdue her. Her skin burned in a way she had never felt before, and a painful ache centered between her thighs. She felt hot, breathless, coiled with tension.

  "Please...” Her neck arched and firm lips pressed against her rapidly beating pulse. She should hate her helplessness, but reveled in it instead.

  "You want me.” He whispered. It was not a question. His palms caressed the indentation of her waist, sliding up over her ribcage to the plump swells of her breasts.

  Her ragged moan was answer enough.

  His lips caressed her temple, his chin, rough with stubble, scratched her skin.

  Gliding over peaks and bulges that formed rigid muscles her hands stroked his back; up to his strong shoulders ... fingers skimmed the back of his neck, his throat, up to his darkly shadowed jawline. Imbued with feminine power she pulled his head down until their eyes met and she was staring directly into scorching blue depths...

  "Nick..."

  Morgan lurched upward, panting and struggling to catch her breath. Moonlight filtering through her open bedroom window cast everything into an eerie blue haze. Sweat beaded her skin; her t-shirt was twisted around the tops of her thighs, plastered to her body. Using shaking hands she pulled it off, watching it flutter to the floor.

  Her nipples were tight, throbbing peaks, aching for her dream lovers’ touch. Feeling vulnerable and exposed she hesitantly covered them with her palms, embarrassed even though she was alone.

  With a trembling hand she reached between her thighs, feeling the wetness, so natural yet so foreign. She was aroused. Her loins were tight and achingly empty, yearning for something more real than just an erotic dream. She had never felt desire before, never wanted the invasion of a man inside her, but now ... now her body was on fire, the delicate entrance behind her labia was throbbing with unfulfilled need. She had never wanted to give herself to a man before but now that was exactly what her body wanted, and for the first time she wondered what it would be like to give herself freely.

  Morgan pulled her hand away and looked at the wetness coating her fingers, frightened by her thoughts and shaken to the extreme by the strong urges rushing through her. She was used to nightmares of pain and helplessness and memories of being beaten until she was cowering and screaming. Waking up with her body in a state of unfulfilled sexual desire was shocking—frightening. Her heart was pounding, galloping out of control and banging hard against her chest, almost like when she had anxiety attacks. Morgan pulled the comforter over her body while gulping in several deep breaths, willing her body and emotions to calm down.

  She had been a virgin before meeting Richard, and while they were dating he had never pressured her for sex, saying instead that he wanted to wait until they married so it would be special for her. Morgan squeezed her eyes shut and drew her knees up to her chest. Burying her chin deep into the comforter she remembered her Honeymoon night. Richard had made it special all right. The man who had promised to love and honor her, had left her on the bed, broken from his fists and bleeding from his use of her body. From then on she had hated having his body on top of hers and between her legs. Detested the feel of his penis, that weapon of invasion he had used to force himself inside of her body.

  She had never felt anything but disgust.

  But this dream ... she shook her head, unwilling to examine the reason she was awake at four AM with her body in chaos because of an erotic dream about a stranger. A man she knew nothing about except that he had shown a little concern for her. Okay, putting his truck in front of her runaway car and then waiting at the hospital for over two hours just to take her home was showing a lot of concern.

  Thinking about the possibilities of why made her heart race. He had an interest in her—a sexual interest. That much was obvious. The problem was that she just didn't know how to handle that the way a normal woman would.

  Morgan sighed and clicked on the bedside lamp, then slid out from under the comforter and got up. Taking her robe from the foot of the bed she headed for the shower, knowing there was no way she would get back to sleep tonight.

  * * * *

  "Sam Lindsey's coming by; he'll be here within thirty minutes.” Jake's raised voice carried across the arena and Nick glanced up to see his brother standing by the gate. “Says he wants to see you work his colt."

  "Hell,” Nick muttered, “I knew the day was going along too fine.” Clucking softly to the horse he reined Neartic, his grey Andalusian stallion, to a sliding halt mere feet from where his brother stood outside the riding ring holding an arm pressed to his ribs.

  Jake slapped at the fine-grained dust floating around him. A layer settled onto the bill of his grey ball-cap. “He says he's been waiting over two months to see some real progress with his horse. Wants to make sure he's getting his money's worth."

  Stifling an irritated curse Nick swung down from the prancing stallion and patted the horse's thick sweaty neck.

  Dealing with Sam Lindsey was a guaranteed way to put him in a bad mood. “And I've told him I only go as fast as the horse wants to. If he wants to find another trainer he's more than welcome.” Nick gathered the reins in one hand and led Neartic to the water trough, letting the big animal take a few sips before leading him to the wash rack beside the barn.

  Jake shrugged, following them. “That's what I told him. All he said was that your fees are too high for the horse to decide when real training begins."

  Nick's curse was low and foul. He handed Jake the reins, then pulled the girth free and lifted the heavy Spanish saddle from the horses back. “I'll deal with Lindsey when he gets here. He either wants the colt trained correctly or he doesn't.” Leaving Jake holding the stallion Nick walked over to the barn door and picked a black halter off of a hook, then turned on the water and began rolling out the hose. Handing Jake the halter Nick began removing the horses protective splint boots, then began spraying the stallions black stockinged legs. “I don't have the time or patience for his shit. That colt's coming along just fine and I'm not going to rush him based on the owner being a jackass."

  Jake's whistle was long and low as he removed Nearctic's bridle and slipped the halter over the stallions lowered head. “Man, you're in a mood. What gives?” He snapped the cross-tie rings to the halter and stepped back so Nick could start washing the horse's body.

  "None of your business."

  "Does it have anything to do with the woman you played knight in a big shining truck to?"

  Nick adjusted the force of the nozzle and lightly sprayed Nearctic's head and neck. The horse's wet dappled coat gleamed in the bright sunlight. “Don't you ever know when to not stick your damn nose into something?"

  "I still think it was insane to just plant yourself in front of a runaway car."

  "Yeah, well, I really didn't want to be hit head on.” He snapped, in no mood to deal with Jake's teasing. “Make yourself useful and go grab that silver cooler sheet from inside the tack room.” Nick ran the sweat scraper along the horses belly in short
, irritated swipes. The topic of the accident always brought the image of her, Mrs. Morgan Fletcher, to his mind. Not that she had ever been far from it. He exercised; she was there. He worked the horses; she was there. He picked a fight with his brother; she was there. He pissed; she was there.

  "Here.” Jake returned with the cooler and handed it to him. “You'll have to throw it on him; I can't raise my arms that high.” Nick adjusted the sheet over the horse and they secured it under the animals’ belly and around its chest.

  Morgan.

  The name fit her. Delicate and sleek she reminded him of the beautiful fine-boned breed of horse that shared her name.

  "Nick ... hey?"

  Jakes voice cut through his dream-like haze. Nick blinked, clearing away the picture of thick mahogany hair, pale peach skin and bright gold eyes. “Yeah? What?"

  "I asked if you wanted me to brush out the colt."

  Nick unsnapped the cross-ties and led the grey stallion off of the washstand and over to the hot-walker beside the barn. “Yeah, thanks. Lunge him a little too if your ribs are up to it. I've got to rub some liniment on Raina's front legs. She was favoring a little yesterday. Hey, did you call that guy about getting a load of alfalfa brought in?"

  "He said he can bring us three hundred bales Monday or Tuesday of next week. That's all he has right now."

  Nick grunted in response.

  Married.

  Why the fuck did she have to be married?

  * * * *

  Adjusting the lunge line Nick moved the sleek bay Thoroughbred colt out towards the center of the indoor training pen, using just his body posture as cues. The young horse responded beautifully, instantly breaking into a smooth lope while always keeping one ear turned in focus on Nick. At barely a year old the horse was already wearing a light bareback pad, pulling scary tarps around behind him without complaint, and responding to voice commands.